


Too Fast for Love

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>h/c while touring for Hot Mess. Gabe's making terrible choices, blowing out his voice, and relying on Ryland a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Fast for Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/profile)[**no_tags**](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/), the most awesome of challenges. Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Ryland hates his life.

It would be cooler if he had a bat signal. It obviously wouldn’t be a bat, because he’s not Batman, and he’s not sure really what would be the best thing. Maybe a bottle of vodka. Of course, the vodka signal makes him sound like he’s either shilling product or a post-revolution Russian superhero, neither of which is true. If he was shilling product that means he’d either be famous or making money, and if he were a superhero, this wouldn’t be the alter ego he’d actually choose. The microphone signal would be too phallic and there’s not actually an animal that fits Gabe well enough to represent him, so Ryland has pretty much given it up as a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it from time to time.

Like now.

Because honestly, his fictitious call to action is much better than reality.

Gabe’s on the floor of 3Oh3’s bus, face-down in a bowl of hummus. Someone has scooped out enough that he can probably breathe, but it’s more likely the hummus is fermenting from the amount of alcohol on Gabe’s breath. Ryland’s not actually sure what fermented hummus would taste like or be or if he could make money off shilling that, but it definitely isn’t what his lead singer needs right now. He wraps one of Gabe’s limp arms around his own shoulders and heaves. Gabe’s face leaves the bowl with a slurp and a pop and then the bowl falls back to the ground and Gabe sort of hangs off Ryland in mid-air.

“You’re a mess, Saporta.”

Gabe doesn’t answer, because answering would require brain cells and a blood alcohol level of less than ‘holy shit, how are you not dead’, and Ryland’s pretty sure Gabe doesn’t have either. He gets an arm around his waist and hoists him up, ending up with hummus all over his shirt as Gabe sways in and faceplants against him. The impact causes an explosion of odor, and Ryalnd doesn’t even want to think about what Gabe’s ingested. Hell, at this rate, he’s merely hoping that the rest of the tour will be alive tomorrow.

He manages to get Gabe off the bus, leaning slightly to his side so Gabe’s lying on him. He’s not sure if Gabe’s asleep or passed out or dead, but he figures the rest of the band has more of a reason to revive him if it comes to that than anyone else on the tour does. Tony’s at the door of Cobra’s bus, holding it open for Ryland. He looks worried, but he’s supposed to because he’s a tour manager. It’s in his job description. “He’s fine.”

“I’d hate to hear your definition of fucked up, Ry.”

“Yeah, you probably would. Help me get him inside, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tony takes Gabe’s other arm and loops it around his shoulder. There’s a distinct height difference, but at least Ryland’s not supporting all of Gabe’s weight. “You want to dump him in the lounge or try to get all the way to his bunk?”

“Lounge.”

They get him to one of the couches and drop him. Gabe’s head hits the back cushion and then he falls to the slide. Tony grabs his feet and lifts them onto the couch. “Shit. I hope he doesn’t throw up on the couch.”

Ryland grabs a blanket from under the cushion of the other couch and covers Gabe’s head, leaving the lower half of his legs exposed. “Fuck that. I hope he doesn’t die on the couch. Pretty sure the rental insurance doesn’t cover that.”

*

“You coming?”

Ryland looks up from his book and shakes his head. “Nah.”

Alex sighs and props his arm on Ryland’s bunk. “Why not?”

“I am engrossed in my book.”

“You’re reading [a ridiculous book].”

“Yeah, well.”

Alex sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. “Staying here isn’t going to change what he does. Nothing’s going to change what he does, Ry. He’s fucked up, he plans to stay fucked up and the only person who’s going to make him _not_ be fucked up his him.”

“I know. I’m not staying here because of him. I told you. Book.” He holds up the book again. “My inherent laziness has nothing to do with Gabe Saporta.”

“You’re like a Harlequin romance, dude. You think you’re going to change him. You think you’re going to save him.”

“He’s my friend.” Ryland shrugs and puts the book down. “I know. I know. He’s your friend too. I just…maybe I can’t save him, but I have to be here. I mean, we all know he can’t swim. Doesn’t mean I’m going to leave him alone to drown.”

“Okay. Okay. Just don’t let him drag you under with him. We’re kind of fond of both of you.”

Victoria comes up behind Alex and leans on him, shaking her head. “No, we’re not. I don’t actually like either of you much at all. And Nate hates you both. I think he’s taken a blood oath to lead you to your ruinous end.”

“Gabe’s almost there,” Alex sighs and bumps his fist against Ryland’s leg. “Just…”

“I know. I will. It’s cool.” He shoos them toward the door. “Go on. Have fun. Revel in the city’s joys. What city are we in? Do they have joys here?”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.” Alex raises his eyebrows and turns, taking Victoria’s hand and heading toward the front of the bus. He listens to them gather coats and laugh and hears the door hiss shut before he slides out of his bunk and heads toward the kitchenette.

Gabe’s at the table, his head down and several magazines open over it. It’s hard to tell if it’s self-inflicted or if everyone just had a go at him, so Ryland doesn’t disturb them. The coffee pot is half-full, but it smells old, so Ryland gets a Red Bull out of the fridge and pops it open, sitting across from Gabe and taking the first drink.

“You’re breathing really loud.”

“I’d stop but then I’d be gasping really loud and then dead. Admittedly, if I were dead, I’d probably be quiet.”

“Fuck that, if you were dead, you’d be haunting my ass.” His voice sounds like he’s been drinking vodka and Red Bull on the rocks, using real rocks, and swallowing them down too. “Why is light so fucking noisy?”

“Yeah, I can’t help you there. What’d you do last night?”

“There was booze. And pills and Travie had some prime shit. Some girl had a thing. That did…” He lifts his hand and waves it around. “That thing.”

“That thing.” Ryland nods and takes another drink. “And what was that supposed to do for you?”

Gabe waves his hand again and then reaches out, snagging Ryland’s Red Bull from him and dragging it back under his magazines. A few fall off as he takes a drink, and more as he shudders roughly. “Fuck.”

“And so you feel good about your choices this morning?”

“It’s still morning?” Gabe peeks out from under the few remaining magazines. “Shit, why am I awake? Fucking Nate making fucking coffee at ten in the fucking morning. Fucking asshole.”

“Yeah, we’re put on this earth to plague you with morning sustenance. Why don’t you go to bed?” Ryland reaches out to take the Red Bull back then thinks better of it. “Got a couple hours until sound check.”

“Yeah.” Gabe nods and stands up, the magazines falling to the floor. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. I’m going to do that.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two pills, his fingers coated with a fine, powdery dust. He downs them with another swig of Red Bull. “You’ll wake me up, man?”

“Yup.” Ryland watches him head back to the bunks, keeping himself balanced with his hands out to his sides, and only running into the walls a couple of times. Ryland digs out his phone and thinks about calling Pete for a while before he shoves it back in his pocket. Calling Pete would be like having the blind lead the blind, and he’s not quite ready to do that yet.

He might put Pete on the Ryland signal issue though. That is right up his alley.

*

Sound check starts the night off knee-deep in shit. Victoria twists her ankle and the blood blister Nate’s been building up over the course of the last shows pops, making a huge mess and meaning he’s going to be in pain the entire night. Gabe’s functionally drunk, skipping a few lines here and there. It’s just sound check, so it’s not the worst, but it definitely doesn’t bode well.

Tony sends them back to the bus and dinner’s on the table, but Gabe just grabs a jacket and goes back outside. Alex catches Ryland by the arm before he can do anything and manhandles him into the seat. “Eat.”

“He’s…”

“Eat. Now.”

Ryland grabs his fork and spears a piece of zucchini and chews it aggressively. Alex crosses his arms over his chest, watching him eat, blocking him in his seat. Victoria and Nate ignore them, eating their own dinner, and eventually Alex sits down and digs in as well. The sealed carton of Gabe’s dinner stays in the middle of the table, and they’re all finished with their respective meals by the time Gabe stumbles back in.

“Fuck,” Alex curses and gets up from his seat, heading toward the fridge to fish out a water.

Ryland looks up as Gabe stumbles over, landing in Alex’s vacated chair. “Fuck, is that food? Fuck. Awesome.” He pulls the container over and opens it, shoveling his fork in and eating quickly. “Starving. Fucking starving. Do we have bread? Shit, I need some bread.”

A fork stabs onto the counter next to Ryland’s hand as he reaches back for the half-loaf of bread sitting there. Alex shakes his head and Ryland pulls his hand back. “No, man. No bread.”

“What?” Gabe looks up and his eyes are glazed and flat. “Fuck, yeah. Bread. That’s what I fucking need. Bread. Do we have bread?”

Ryland shakes his head and glances back at Alex who’s grabbing a Red Bull from the fridge even as he rolls his eyes. He slams it down on the counter and gives Gabe a dark look. “We go on in two hours.”

“He’ll be all right.”

“He’d better be.” He leaves the kitchen and Ryland sighs, opening the Red Bull and sliding it in front of Gabe. He knows they’re all getting frustrated. Hell, _he’s_ frustrated, but he also doesn’t know what to do. Even with decent success and a good tour, Gabe’s got reason to be depressed. His voice keeps giving out and he can barely talk after a show, he’s got another doctor’s appointment the next time they hit New York, and there’s some worry that he’s got another cyst, and Bianca decided that four years was more than enough and ended their relationship with a lot of accusations, far too many of which were true.

Gabe stares at the Red Bull and then drinks half of it in a couple of long swallows. It doesn’t do anything for the high he’s got going, but it will _keep_ him going. When he crashes, he’ll crash hard and it will be messy, but they’ve got paying customers, and Ryland’s not big on letting people down.

He sticks with Gabe through the next couple of hours, keeping him hydrated and caffeinated and moving. He bounces like a ping-pong ball through Travie’s set, hitting walls and pacing the hallways like a mental patient. Ryland’s gone over the set list with him a couple of times and hopefully muscle memory will carry them through this. He’s seen Gabe actually perform while far more fucked up than this, but something in the air feels like tonight seems determined to crash down around them.

And it does.

Ryland doesn’t even see it start, because he’s trying to hold everything together on stage, but all of a sudden, Gabe is mouthing off at some guys in the audience, flipping them shit and calling them names. Ryland’s not big on God, but he still mutters a prayer under his breath that this will stop so that he doesn’t have to kill Gabe or every member of the audience, because this is going to catch fire on the Internet.

The thing is Gabe’s not wrong. The guys are being complete douche bags and ruining it for everyone else, but Gabe yelling at them and pissing them off doesn’t make it better. In fact, he comes off as an even bigger douche bag because _everyone_ can see and hear Gabe. As soon as he can cue the band, they start playing a little louder, and eventually Gabe starts singing again, but the rest of the night is fucked.

When they clear the stage, Gabe’s still pissed and the rest of the band is pissed at him. Ryland hands Gabe off to Matt and holds the rest of the band back, trying to get everyone to calm down. They’re pissed and tired and it’s possible they’re just going to rip Ryland to shreds in Gabe’s stead, but there’s booze in the room and they’ve got 3Oh3s set to get through, so he guides them there and works on getting them as drunk as he possibly can. He’ll just pour everyone into bed and then throw himself in front of the bus. That should solve everything.

When it’s safe to leave them to their own devices and the stash of whiskey he stole from Sean’s bag, he heads out to the bus to find Gabe. He trusts Matt got Gabe to his bunk in one piece, and it’s possible that, for once, the universe could be working in Ryland’s favor and Gabe could be passed out already. He’s probably not that lucky.

Matt’s in the doorway of the bus, drinking a beer that he looks like he sorely needs. That never bodes well. “He’s in his bunk. I maybe used a belt to buckle his legs together so he can’t walk.”

“Wow, don’t let the Internet hear you say that.” Ryland rubs his forehead. He needs a drink. He needs all of the drinks. “What’d he do?”

“He took off. I caught him and carried him back and dumped him in his bunk. Then came the belt. I was going to gag him, but he got all wild-eyed and I thought he might choke. As it is, I shut the door to the bunks so you can’t hear him as well.”

“There’s a reason for the angel in your name.” Ryland rolls his neck, trying to make it pop. “Okay, I got this.”

“You sure?”

“Not at all, but I imagine that shit’s going to hit the Internet and you don’t deserve to deal with the fall out from that.”

“And you do?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment.” Ryland heaves himself up onto the steps after Matt steps down, shutting the door behind him and heading into the bunks. Gabe’s actually quiet, so probably passed out or dead. “I’m going to start hoping for one over the other pretty soon, Saporta, you know that, right?”

Gabe snorts in his sleep and tries to turn over, flailing slightly before settling down. Ryland grabs a pillow from his bunk and sits on the edge of Alex’s, grabbing Gabe’s phone and sending out texts, warning Pete and the higher ups about the shit that’s going to hit the fan.

**

Three days later, after a good gig, a hotel night, and a long time on the road, things have calmed down a little. Gabe’s still wired and self-destructive, but mostly in a way that keeps him from fucking up sets and getting in the way of the rest of the band. Ryland managed to get him on the phone with Pete, which was probably good for both of them. No matter how down they are, they seem to pick each other up. Still, Pete’s got his own shit going on and it’s not like they can huddle together on a bus like the last time. Which means Ryland’s got to figure out how to make Gabe bottom out without killing himself or pull him up short of hitting it and set him on a different course.

This is not what he went to school for.

“Ry? We’ve got a problem.” Nate pokes his head into the back lounge. His mouth is twisted in a worried line and his eyebrows are drawn together. Shit.

“Let me guess. Starts with G and ends with A, B, E?”

“We’ve got a meet and greet in a half hour.” Nate glances over his shoulder. “He’s beyond fucked up. Possibly fucking hallucinating, man. He can’t meet people like this. Shit, I’m not even sure he can _perform_ like this.”

“Right. Okay. Tell Tony that Gabe’s…shit, tell Tony I can get him ready for the show, but there’s no way in hell he can do the meet and greet. Fuck.” He puts his phone away and gets to his feet, briefly wondering what touring is like without a goddamned diva on the bus. “Matt!” He folds a ten-dollar bill into Matt’s hand. “Go to the nearest drugstore, okay? Get me some Ipecac syrup.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“You can guess why. Just do it, okay?”

Matt nods and heads toward the front of the bus. Ryland can hear Gabe singing in the front, almost shouting, and his voice isn’t going to last the whole night at this rate. Gabe breaks off when he sees Ryland, jumping off the sofa and launching himself into Ryland’s arms. Ryland catches him and stumbles back, falling onto the opposite sofa and landing on his ass with Gabe in his lap. “Ryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyland.” He draws it out at top volume. “Let’s go party. Let’s get the party started. Let’s party like it’s 1999.”

“Let’s be quiet.”

“No. No being quiet. Being quiet is for pussies who aren’t rock stars. We’re rock _fucking_ stars.”

“You keep this up, you’re going to be like the dead rock stars.”

“Legendary?”

“Dead.” He shoves Gabe off onto the cushion. “Fuck, man, what the fuck is this, huh? You got broken up with and that sucks. I get that. But you fucked around and let fame go to your head for a while, and I don’t blame Bianca for not wanting to put up with that shit.”

“Don’t say her name.”

“You don’t blame her for not putting up with that shit. The reason you _liked_ her was because she didn’t put up with your shit.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right. You’d rather ruin your friendships and blow up the good thing you have going and fuck your band over and kill yourself than talk about it.”

Gabe gives him a black look and shrugs his shoulders, tugging his jacket around him. “I’m not doing that shit.”

“You yelled at a kid, Gabe. You called a kid a fat-ass. You weren’t even clever. You were just a dick.”

“I posted a thing that I was sorry. Or, well, not sorry, because I’m not. He was a fuckhead and he was ruining shit for other people, and that’s not right. I mean, it sucks that I called him names, but…” He stops, trailing off and waving a hand around. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re about as far from fine as you can get. You’re fucked up and messed up and, to be honest with you, if you want to go down, that’s fine. That’s fucking fine, but don’t pull me and Alex and Nate and Victoria with you. Because we deserve better than that.”

“So fucking leave then.”

Ryland shakes his head and stands up. “Be careful what you wish for, Gabe. Because, to be honest, we’re all damn close to being ready to walk.”

“So you’re giving me ultimatums now?”

“No, you stupid fucking jackass. I’m trying to tell you you’re driving away the people who love you and want to help you, but we’re not fucking throwing ourselves on the altar for you, okay? We actually give a shit about you and would like you to turn your ass around and get off this road of destruction and rest your voice and stop doing drugs and drinking and maybe, just fucking maybe, get your head out of your ass and see that you’re pretty fucking _lucky_ in the long run and you should stop being a whiny little shit about getting your heart broken. It happens to all of us, Gabe. You’re not fucking special.”

“Fuck you.” Gabe staggers to his feet and shoves Ryland hard. The force sends Ryland back a few steps and nearly topples Gabe into him. “Fucking _fuck you_ , Ryland. You think you’re so fucking smart, so fucking noble? No one asked you to be my fairy godfather, okay? No one fucking _asked_ you.”

“You’re wrong, Gabe. Pete and William and Rob and Mikey and Gerard and Frankie and Heath and your dad and a whole lot of other people who _give a shit about you_ asked me to look out for you, to make sure you were okay, to make sure you didn’t dive off the stage and break your fucking neck or do something so fucking stupid you didn’t break your whole career. Of course, _they_ don’t have to put up with you.”

“Neither do you, asshole. You’re fucking _fired_.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” Ryland shoves Gabe onto the couch and jabs him hard in the chest with two fingers. “Don’t I fucking _wish_.”

**

Ryland tells Matt to give Gabe the Ipecac. Well, Tony tells him to give it to him after Ryland tells him he can shove it so far up Gabe’s ass it’ll seem like he swallowed it. After that Ryland does the meet and greet and laughs and cajoles and teases fans until they don’t even seem to notice too much that there’s a huge space where Gabe should be. Of course they notice, and of course they’re pissed. No one signs up for the fan club and a fucking meet and greet to meet the rest of them. They’re there for Gabe. Ryland’s actually tempted to tell them all that Gabe’s too fucked up to function, so they got shafted by their hero, but he doesn’t want to explain to a bunch of teenagers what ‘shafted’ means, so he just plays along the party line.

Gabe’s in the dressing room when they get back, looking pale and shaky and sipping on a hot tea. No one talks to him, retreating to opposite couches and chairs and corners to get lost in their own worlds. Nate’s got his headphones on and is working on a new drum line. Victoria’s on her phone talking to her Mom. Alex and Ryland move as far from Gabe as possible and Alex starts talking, holding up most of the conversation, because all Ryland can manage is glaring at Gabe.

The show goes off without a fucking hitch, which is really the last straw. Ryland wants the fucking stage collapsing down around them like something out of a comic book or disaster movie, but instead the fans scream loud and Gabe hits every note and jump and mic toss and no one would believe him if he told them a few hours ago he’d been so high on pills Ryland wasn’t sure he remembered his own name. As it is, being close to him on stage means Ryland can see the waxiness of his skin under the flush of performing, and being on is taking a serious toll.

Ryland doesn’t bother to wait around after the gig. He’d carefully scratched Pleasure Ryland off the set list and filled it in with something else, something innocuous, because there was no way he could play along to Gabe’s joking innuendo. He finishes the set and walks off, flipping a few guitar picks to the audience, then heads backstage, not waiting for any of the others. He doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone. He wants to go to his bunk and sleep and not give a fuck. As soon as he figures out how that part of it works.

“Ry?”

He stops just inside the door of the venue. A couple more steps and he’d be free and clear. “I’m not in the mood, Gabe.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you think you are, but do you even know what you’re sorry for?” He waits a beat and then starts walking again. The door slams shut behind him and Gabe doesn’t follow, which answers Ryland’s question pretty well.

**

Ryland thinks that, if this were a movie, Gabe would be detoxing in his bunk across the hallway. He’d be shivering and shaking and crying out, puking up blood and begging Ryland to forgive him. As it is, Gabe’s partying out in the lounge with Nate and Nate and Sean and Victoria and Travie and Matt. It’s been going on for a couple hours, and Ryland’s doing his best to ignore it. He puts on his headphones and tries to read, eventually pulling his curtain closed to block out the light. He’s in a cocoon of indifference.

A couple hours later, the noises are still going on when his curtain rattles with someone walking by. He takes out his earbuds and opens his curtain a crack, expecting to see Victoria or Nate. Instead Gabe’s standing there, about to hoist himself up into his bunk. “Party doesn’t sound like it’s over.”

Gabe starts and steps off Alex’s bunk and onto the hallway floor. He shifts to he’s almost facing Ryland, but he doesn’t make eye contact. “It’s not.”

“Thought you were always the last to leave.”

“Well, it’s officially our bus, so I haven’t actually left.” Gabe shrugs. His eyes are glassy with drink, but he’s nowhere near as bad as Ryland’s seen him lately. “So technically I still can be.”

“You’re going to bed?”

Gabe starts to say something and then sighs. “I thought this is the kind of thing you wanted.”

“I wanted you to stop trying to kill yourself.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Maybe not intentionally or easily. I mean, Gabe Saporta can’t go down with just a handful of fucking pills or a ham sandwich. You’ve got to go out in a blaze of glory, right? Ride it down into the ground.”

“Why are you so pissed at me?”

“Because I don’t like watching my friends fall apart.”

“So don’t fucking _watch_.”

Ryland gets out of his bunk and looks at Gabe, refusing to let him look away. “You’re standing right in front of me, Gabe. You’re the one the fucking spotlight is on. How am I _not_ supposed to see you? How am I supposed to look away?”

“I’m not trying…” Gabe exhales. “Goodnight, Ry.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.” He shakes his head as Gabe starts to climb in his bunk, reaching out blindly and grabbing his arm. He pulls Gabe against him, wrapping his arms around him tight. Gabe struggles at first, and Ryland closes his eyes and holds on, refusing to loosen his grip.

“Stop it, Ry. God…god damn it…st-stop…” Gabe’s voice chokes off and suddenly he goes limp, a dead weight in Ryland’s arms. Ryland eases him down onto his knees and follows him down, still holding on as Gabe’s body shakes, silent tremors wracking his body. Ryland rubs his back, ignoring the feeble fists Gabe’s pounding against Ryland’s shoulders.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Fuck you.” Gabe hiccups the words, his voice milky and thick with tears. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah. I know. I know. Fuck me.”

Ryland sinks down onto the floor, tugging Gabe against him. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but neither of them moves. Gabe’s breathing evens out eventually and Ryland shifts him, so Gabe’s head is settled on Ryland’s lap. He’ll take shit for it when the rest of the crew comes to bed, but he thinks it might be worth it. Not that he thinks Gabe’s changed really, or that anything is fixed, but maybe it’s better.

Gabe shivers a little and Ryland reaches back, pulling Alex’s blanket off his bunk and letting it settle over Gabe. He shifts under the light weight and his nose nuzzles against Ryland’s thigh. Ryland closes his eyes for a minute, feeling the weight of him and the warmth of his breath on his thin boxers before reaching out and combing his fingers through Gabe’s hair.

“It’s a damn good thing you’re cute, Saporta.”

“Mmm. ‘s that why you love me?” Gabe mumbles, slurring the words together, a mixture of booze and exhaustion.

Ryland doesn’t flinch, even though, like this, he doesn’t have much choice but to admit it hits damn close to home. “No. Not even close. But it doesn’t hurt.”

Gabe nods, his whole body shuddering with his next breath. “I just…I can’t…I want to make it stop, and…”

“Gabe.” Ryland tugs the hair he’s combing his fingers through. “I know. Shut up.”

Miraculously, Gabe actually does shut up, but he shifts closer to Ryland and holds on tight, like he’s never going to let go.  



End file.
